Statue of St. Peter

In St. Peter’s Basilica, the longest queue is not for Michelangelo’s Pietà, not for Bernini’s baldachin, but for a dull, unassuming bronze old man—people line up at its feet just to kiss or touch its right toe, which has been rubbed entirely smooth. That toe is the trace left by humanity’s most stubborn and most physical 700 years of collective prayer.

The statue’s date of creation is disputed—some attribute it to an early 5th-century early Christian sculptor, others to the late 13th-century Tuscan sculptor Arnolfo di Cambio (also the original architect of the Florence Cathedral). Either way, Saint Peter sits here on a marble throne, his left hand holding two keys—the keys Christ gave him to “manage the gates of Heaven”—his right raised in a gesture of blessing, two fingers extended and thumb upright: the Byzantine blessing mark still used by popes today during consecration.

Now look at that right foot. Originally it had clearly defined toes like the rest of the statue, finished in gold. But over 700-plus years, hundreds of millions of pilgrims—desperate peasants from the Black Death era, mothers during two World Wars, believers from the most remote corners of the world—they all touched this foot, kissed it, used it as a physical interface for transmitting something to another world. This unbroken physical contact slowly ground the clearly defined toe topography into a smooth metallic mound, like a riverbed pebble worn down by countless hands. Time is not carved into walls here. Time is rubbed smooth.

Every June 29, the feast day of Saints Peter and Paul, the statue is dressed in magnificent crimson pontifical vestments, topped with a triple tiara worth millions of dollars. Church staff need over three hours to complete the dressing. If you happen to be there that day, what you’ll see is not a sculpture—but a still-living sovereign still receiving pilgrims.

Two thousand years ago, Simon Peter was a fisherman on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, hands netting fish, feet in mud. Then Jesus called to him from the waterline and he dropped his net and followed. Later he was crucified upside-down in Rome—he felt unworthy to die the same way as his teacher. His remains are buried directly beneath this church. Between those two events, everything happened. That worn-down toe is humanity’s most honest footnote to everything that happened in between.

ArtBuddy Interactive Challenge: Look at Peter’s worn-down right foot. If you were there, would you join this 700-year-old “touching” tradition? Make a wish—they say this foot is directly linked to Heaven’s memo pad.